"
"It's too bad of you, oh, it really is," cried May indignantly. "You who
ought to stand up for him and be his greatest friend!"
"Oh, yes, I see! I've overshot my mark. I'm a blunderer."
"Your mark? What mark? Why do you want to tell me about him at all?"
"I don't," said Miss Quisante, folding her hands in her lap and assuming
an air of resolute reticence. But her eyes dwelt now with an imperfectly
disguised kindness on the tall fair girl who pleaded for justice and saw
no justice in the answers that she got. But the more Aunt Maria inclined
to like May Gaston, the more determined was she not to palter with truth,
the more determined to have no hand in giving the girl a false idea of
Sandro. So far as lay in her power, Sandro's Empress should know the
whole truth about Sandro.
The buzz of London, to which Miss Quisante referred as beginning to sound
her nephew's name, revealed to the ear three tolerably distinct notes.
There were the people who laughed and said the thing was no affair of
theirs; this section was of course the largest, embracing all the
naturally indifferent as well as the solid mass of the opposite political
party.
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